As You Are
by the Chronic Meltdown
Summary: "Quinn's hot." "Yeah." Rachel agrees absentmindedly, before snapping out of her trance and clamping her mouth shut. Finn stares at her, his mouth hanging open. Whoops. Faberry, AU.


As You Are

**Sunday** (_Prologue_)

The sun blinds her as soon as she steps out onto the deck.

She blinks reflexively, pupils growing tiny in response to the exponentially increased lighting. She clears her throat lightly, her right hand gripping a much smaller one tightly as she tries to make her way through the throng of people walking back and forth across the Lido. She can see a large TV screen hanging up ahead, projecting the latest match in the World Cup. It's Argentina versus Mexico, and the Mexicans are rapidly losing ground. She's perfectly indifferent, because soccer really isn't her thing, but a few steps behind her, she can hear Puck exclaim, "This ship is awesome!"

She rolls her eyes and instead turns to face the smallest and, by far, smartest, person in their little family unit. Beth's wide brown eyes watch her in excitement. It brings a grin to her face.

"How about you, baby? What do you think?"

Her little girl bounces on the balls of her feet, her blonde curls whipping about her face as she looks around, trying to see everything at once.

"It's big," she happily observes, "and there are a lot of people." She then pauses, a little, before looking up at Quinn with a bright, intelligent gaze. "Maybe too many, mommy."

Puck walks up behind them and picks up Beth, who wriggles a little in his arms before wrapping her own around his neck and simply allowing him to carry her. She pouts as he pokes her nose affectionately and says,

"Nah, everything's fine, squirt." He grins when both mother and daughter narrow their eyes at him, but he's always been fearless, and thus trudges on. "But really, when the hell did you get so heavy?"

"Language, Puck." Quinn interjects, glancing around distractedly, just as baby Fabray sniffs delicately and says, "While you weren't looking."

This amuses her, and she turns back to give the girl a discreet thumbs up over the young man's shoulder. It makes Beth duck down in order to try and hide the grin threatening to take over her face. And really, Quinn has no idea where the kid got it from, but she can be such a little diva.

"Smart-aleck." Noah says good-humoredly, with the exact same smile he'd used to get her to commit the mistake that had eventually given her the best thing in her life. "I should teach you a lesson."

Just then, two admittedly pretty young women around her age (_one a tall blonde, and the other a confident brunette_) walk past them, pinky in pinky. The father of her child follows them with his gaze, his mouth trailing off into a strange, unintelligible mumble that then turns into something along the lines of, "I'd so tap that."

He repeats it. "I would so, _so_ tap that." He looks at her. "I'd like to tap that."

Quinn rolls her eyes, partially from her disgust, and partially because she's so used to this aspect of him that she's become a little…dare she say it, _fond_ of it. "Would you please watch the way you speak in front of our daughter?"

He makes a face, before looking back at Beth, who's gazing at him with a quirked eyebrow that reminds him of Quinn back when she'd still been head bitch in charge in high school.

Still, he proceeds, while the eldest blonde looks on expectantly, her expression a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

"Did you understand that?" Puck asks hopefully, and inwardly rejoices when Beth shakes her head no, still staring at him suspiciously. He turns to Quinn triumphantly. "See? She's too young to understand this shit."

"_Language,_ Puck!"

"Sorry."

And then, a few seconds later, "But…what did it mean?"

-o-

Rachel Berry sighs and Kurt rolls his eyes at her.

"Would you stop that?" he asks her, gazing at her with his brow furrowed in annoyance, "That's, like, the fifth time you've sighed in the past two minutes. The sound is going to drive me insane."

She resists the urge to sigh again and turns to him from her position leaning against the veranda. "I can't help it. I expected more than this when they offered me this job. Something along the lines of less table waiting and more cabaret, if only to balance the two." She sighs again, unable to stop herself, and Kurt lets his head drop back against the lawn chair in frustration. "All I do is wait on people." She narrows her eyes. "The ingrates. Half the time, I don't even get 'thank you's."

"Get used to it." the young man offers with a shrug, lifting his head again to try and focus on the magazine in his hands, "When I got the offer, I had your same delusions. Then I realized we all have to start somewhere, and that this is simply my beginning."

"They're not delusions." she snaps, really sort of wounded, "I have a better voice than you all do, as I've had years of intense preparation. I should be on Broadway playing Evita by now." She sounds bitter as she says this, and even more so when she adds, "I'm twenty-four. My biological clock is ticking."

Kurt rolls his eyes. He rolls up his magazine, sits up from the lawn chair, and slides to his feet. She watches his approach wearily, but doesn't move away, so he decides to tap her shoulder gently with the rolled up journal.

"Stop being such a drama queen, Berry." he says, though his eyes are surprisingly gentle. "We're still young. And besides, don't you think this will make you seem more interesting?" At her quirked eyebrow, he elaborates. "When you're famous and people worldwide recognize your talent, like the rest of us already do," she smiles at this, "don't you think this will make you more appealing? You'll have stories to tell about your humble beginnings as a waitress and how, after being teased and hated all through high school," at this, she glares, "someone finally recognized your talent in some exotic place while you were singing aboard a cruise ship."

"Well…" she relents, hesitantly, "I suppose it would make for a good story."

He scoffs. "A _good_ story? It's a great one." He frowns at her. "It'll make you easily relatable to, and will be a useful distractor for your agents to use once people are faced with the reality of your hideous personality."

And suddenly, he's on her bad side, again.

-o-

As soon as they step inside the ship, Santana drags Brittany to the elevators.

They walk inside the glass box, and, while her blonde companion looks around, fascinated by all the pretty colors, Santana presses the number _7_ and taps her foot impatiently as they ascend. Because, see, the Latina has goals. She has goals, and plans with which she will ascertain her success at achieving those goals. And nothing, _nothing_ _at all_, will come between her and those lovely goals. Not even a goddamn sinking ship.

So she taps her foot impatiently, and when the elevator comes to a halt, drags Brittany out of it and towards their room. She fumbles with her golden key card, for a while, before the door finally opens. She pushes past it, pulling her Dutch girl with her, before letting her go and dropping her bags on the bed. She then turns around with a smirk and raises a hand to twirl a strand of her hair around her finger.

Brittany's expression of confusion is utterly dispelled. The girl thus drops her backpack on the floor and steps forward, as if enchanted. Santana offers her a hand, and the blonde takes it, breath hitching, a little, when the Latina tugs on it and makes her stumble forward.

The brunette leans up lightly, and trails her lips across the Dutch girl's neck. She takes an inordinate amount of pleasure from the soft noise the girl emits.

"Why don't you and I christen this bed?" she asks, smirking.

Brittany pulls away in confusion.

"I thought you weren't all that religious, San."

Her lips tilt up at the corners.

"I'm not."

-o-

Finn is in housekeeping. It's why he's in the area during the aftermath of Brittany and Santana's "time of worship".

He absentmindedly knocks on their door, planning on introducing himself as their steward and giving them the ship's docking and entertainment schedules. When they open up, he flushes, because, really, there's nothing hotter than two sweaty, very naked girls wrapped up in one bed sheet. Especially when the blonde one is nibbling on the brunette's ear while pressing up against her.

"Yes?" The Latina hums, giggling, probably because of the expression on his face.

"I-I-I…" he stutters, and trails off into a quiet whimper when the blonde licks a trail down a tan shoulder.

"_Yes?_" she asks again, now understandably impatient.

She moans softly when Brittany bites down. Unbeknownst to Finn, the blonde's pale hand is trailing past a bellybutton and towards a certain precious (_to her_) destination.

"Uhm…"

Secretly, Finn's thinking of the mailman. It's failing, so he shifts the papers he was going to give them in front of his crotch. He doesn't need to be sued for hypothetical harassment. By now, though, Brittany's hand has reached its target, and, with dark, half-hooded eyes, Santana reaches out and pushes him away.

"Too late." she tells him, and shuts the door in his face.

He turns around and shuffles awkwardly towards the elevator.

-o-

Mercedes scowls.

"Now listen here, twig." she growls, "This is a good burger. I made it, and I should know. I put in exactly what you wanted, so go sit back down and eat it before I cut you a new one."

Santana glares at her. "My girlfriend didn't like it, so it's not a good burger. Period."

"It tastes like duck." Brittany adds.

The Latina nods as if to say, 'There you have it.'

The dark skinned girl throws her hands up in exasperation. "It's cow! How can cow taste like duck?"

"I don't know," the brunette scoffs, "but you'd better go and fix it before I call your manager."

Mercedes grits her teeth and walks over to the grill to make the blonde another burger. She places the damn thing on a patty. She then adds cheese, lettuce, tomato, and a sprinkle of mayonnaise. She carries it over to her customers. Santana sniffs it suspiciously before handing it over to her girlfriend, who immediately bites into it. She releases a small sound of satisfaction.

"This is really good." she says, and the Latina grins at her.

Mercedes is still scowling. "It's exactly the same as it was before, white girl."

Santana narrows her eyes at her, so she rolls her eyes in response but complies with the silent order to shut up. She can't be happier when the girl finally hands her a five dollar bill. She watches them walk away, hand in hand in burger.

She sighs and looks down disdainfully at the first one.

Tentatively, she takes it in her hand. She nibbles it.

"Ew!" she exclaims, making an expression akin to utter disgust as she gazes at the thing in abject horror, "This _does_ taste like duck!"

In their spots by the pool, Tina and Artie glance at each other.

"Can we skip the hamburger stand?" he inquires meekly.

She nods eagerly. "Sure."

-o-

Sometime during the day, Mike Chang gets asked, "Why does it say 'Other Asian' on your nametag?"

He replies, "Captain Sylvester says it's easier for her to remember me this way, though officer Schuester and Miss Pillsbury, the ship's resident counselor, strongly disagree."

The tourists peer at him strangely. Beside him, Matt gazes at him with something similar to pity. He looks down dejectedly and walks away.

-o-

This is how it starts.

Quinn Fabray is sitting at a table with Puck and Beth. They're in the one of the dining rooms, and the food has been delicious so far. She and Noah have been having a relatively intelligent conversation, which has only been marred due to the man boy's salacious comments as to the many "hot waitresses" walking around. Much to his disappointment, however, their waiter is a young man who looks fairly…well…gay. And as though he could tell he was making Puck uncomfortable, he'd been sending the man boy smug looks all through their dinner.

It's made Quinn laugh a lot. She's also particularly enjoyed the dirty looks Puck has sent her for doing so. She can only think that it serves him right for being such a man whore.

"He is totally making eyes at me."

She rolls her eyes in response, utterly amused. "He is _not_, Puck. He's only making fun of you."

The young man's brown eyes focus on her face, seeming somehow incredulous. "How could he possibly make fun of me?" He looks down at himself and all of his admittedly attractive glory, "I'm Puckasaurus Rex. There's nothing to make fun _of_." He promptly stuffs a breadstick into his mouth.

Quinn looks away in mild disgust. Beside her, Baby Fabray imitates her. Puck finds it a little, dare he say it, cute.

_Ew_, he thinks, stopping in his chewing to berate himself for being unmanly. He decides to fix it by saying something entirely inappropriate.

"Maybe if we make out in front of him, he'll leave me alone." He smirks in her direction, pleased when she turns to look at him with wide hazel eyes. "Wanna help me, MILF?"

He yelps a little when she kicks him in the shins.

"Stop being such a horndog." she tells him, not so much angry or upset as she is unwilling to let her daughter be exposed to these terms at such a young age.

"Mommy, what's a MILF? And what's a horn…a horndog?"

Noah smirks at her again, and Quinn is left feeling uncharitable enough to actually consider kicking out at him again and breaking his most prized possession.

She is (_thankfully_) saved from having to answer when the lights around them dim to almost complete darkness. For a second, she's irrationally concerned that something's gone wrong. But then there's a spotlight shinning down on the center of the room, and a young, very pretty brunette waitress is standing on a counter with a microphone in hand, and that fear is thus dispelled.

"How are you all doing tonight?" she asks in a bright voice, beaming when the room answers with a resounding, 'Good!' "That's great! Well, the crew and I," at this, she gestures around her, and in response, several other spotlights pop up to reveal grinning crewmembers, one of whom is Kurt, their waiter, "just wanted to let you guys know how happy we are that you're here."

Another crewmember, a handsome young man with dark hair, grins and says, "We just wanted to say: Welcome."

The lights shut off, and then, after a few seconds of silence, which Quinn uses to check on her baby, who beams and grips her hand in excitement, the music starts.

When the lights turn back on, and the crew begins to sing, it's fairly obvious that, though the young man is the lead for this song, the brunette woman is the star of the show. It's _her_ voice that leaves a trail of goose bumps on her flesh. It's _her_ voice that she finds spectacular.

This is when Quinn Fabray notices Rachel Berry for the first time.

Noah Puckerman does too, if his words are any indication.

"That is one _hot_ piece of Jew ass."

He is subtly kicked.

"_Language_, Puck."

"Sorry."

**A/N: **

Eh. Humor fic. Started this during my cruise last week, while I had no connections to the internet. Recently haven't been in that great a mood, so don't really expect that many updates. Working on Trembling Butterfly. Will possibly post next chapter before this Sunday.

Also, I am up to something twisted.

Also, someone really has to poke and prod me. Tell me to stop being so lazy. D: And tell me to finish my one-shots. : I'm incapable of doing so, recently, for some reason. I have, literally, around _seven_ Faberry shots I haven't finished, and it _frustrates me_. Deeply. D: D: D:

Anyway. I'll probably end up finishing some. (_Someday_.)

Later.

PS: I'd like a beta. I'm tired of editing my word vomit. It's hard. D: And I've been doing it for years, so it's the cause of my many writer's blocks. I just need to write first drafts as bad as they naturally come out, instead of being such an obnoxious perfectionist. I miss being a _writer._


End file.
